Frost
by WriteOnForever
Summary: It's just another normal assignment. It started that way, at least. Pre-series, stand-alone.


AN: I was craving Frostbite, and this happened.

Disclaimer: I wish, but it's not.

Frost

Dropping her duffle bag, Artemis inspected the hideout, a run-down apartment with dirt encrusted walls. The light flickered weakly, bathing the small space in a ghostly glow. Nose wrinkling in disgust, she lay her bow on the cleaner mattress and sat down heavily, her chin in her hand. "I hate out of town missions," she mumbled, easing the quiver off her back.

"Getting comfortable?" Lawrence entered, haphazardly throwing his weapons onto the second bed. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"Oh, totally," she returned, rolling her eyes. With an hour until the heist, he was still Dad and not Sportsmaster, so she could afford to respond in such a manner.

Giving her ponytail a playful tug, he murmured, "Just be glad there ain't any rats in this one, Baby Girl. You freaked out the last time."

"Did not," she protested hotly, her face burning.

"Right, firing three arrows while hiding in the closet is a completely normal reaction."

Before she could provide a rebuttal, a door slammed loudly down the hall. Jumping to her feet, she sped from the room and stumbled to a stop in front of Cameron and Joar. The fourteen-year-old smiled, his signature grin that made her stomach tingle with excitement. "Hi, Artemis."

"Hi, Cam."

"Talk later," Joar grumbled to his son, roughly shoving past him. "Put your crap away first."

His shoulders sagged, and Artemis focused on the zigzagging cracks on the floor so she wouldn't have to see the pain on his face. As he obeyed, she trailed beside him and whispered, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. He's just tense, you know? Anxious about tonight. He'll be fine after."

"Okay," she mumbled, not pressing the issue. If he needed to believe that, she'd let him believe that.

The Mahkent's room was in even worse shape than her and her dad's. Faded red stains dotted the carpet, and it smelled of aged bleach and mildew. Splinters of glass littered the floor beneath a broken mirror.

"You can really pick them, can't you Lawrence?" Joar called dryly, handing his things to Cam before leaving to speak with his cohort.

"I don't think it's that bad," Cam told Artemis, flopping onto the bed closest to the door. Dust billowed around him.

Her hand flew to her face to cover her mouth. "Really?" she demanded. "It's a Hellhole."

"Hellhole? What language to be coming from a young lady."

"Young?" She planted her hands on her hips and scowled. "I'm thirteen, remember? You have a year on me."

"Almost two—I'm fifteen in a month. But speaking of you being a teen—" Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a small package, covered in newspaper and tape. "I, I got something for you."

Unable to contain the small gasp that broke free, she took the box. "How'd you get the money for it?" she breathed.

"Dad gave me an independent assignment. Real small, but he let me keep some of the profits. I, I missed your birthday and I wanted to make it up to you."

"You spent that on me?"

Lowering his head in embarrassment, he shrugged and countered, "Not all of it. But you're, you're my best friend, and being a teen's a big deal, you know, and, and, just open it, okay?"

"Alright, alright. Jeez, you got enough tape?"

"I wanted to keep it secure! If it's too tough for you, use one of your pretty little arrows."

"You won't be calling them that when one's against your throat."

"Oh, I'm so scared, Rapunzel."

"You ought to be, Frostbite. You know I can kick your…" The words faded as she stared at her gift, or, rather, gifts: a jumbo size bag of M&Ms, Starbursts, and a book about female warriors throughout history. "Cam, this is so sweet. Thank you."

"You mean it? You really like it?"

"I love it."

Icy blue eyes were bright with excitement, and his grin was back, dazzling white teeth against his pale skin. "Cool. I, I tried to remember the stuff you like, but I was afraid I would mess up."

"You did great," she promised, throwing her arms around his neck, pretending she couldn't hear the hitch in his voice when he said _mess up_. Although he would never admit it, and she would never mention it, Cam was highly sensitive when it came to situations where he would either be a success or a failure. Nothing he did, no matter how hard he tried, seemed to be enough for his father, and the snide remarks or scathing insults had damaged his self-esteem.

Laughing, Cam returned the embrace. "Happy belated birthday, Artemis."

"Cameron, Artemis, come here."

"Show time," she mumbled, her happiness waning. Though the daughter of two notorious assassins, she had no desire to follow in her parents' footsteps. Hours of training left her sore and bitter, and missions filled her with horror and fear, plaguing nightmares with pools of crimson and screams that came from every direction. Each operation that spared her of the kill shot was just one closer to her ultimate test, and now that she was getting older, that day was always looming, a constant fear lurking in the darkest abyss of her subconscious.

Grabbing her presents, she went to her room, but as she was swapping candy for her bow, she heard metal clattering against wood, followed by, "_Cameron_!"

Wincing, she peeked her head out to see Joar glowering at the cryokinetic, hastily shoving the pieces to the cold ray back into their bag. "I'm sorry, Dad. It slipped."

"No excuses!" he spat, grabbing his son by the upper arm and jerking him to his feet. "Get yourself together. You screw up once tonight—_once_—and you will regret it, understand me?"

He nodded shakily.

"Understand me?" Joar repeated, twisting Cam's arm.

"Yes!"

Sneering contemptuously, he shoved him against the wall and stalked away. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Artemis cautiously approached and murmured, "Let's go."

Sportsmaster and Icicle were waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed over their chests. Wordlessly, they stood before them, backs perfectly erect and eyes straight ahead. They weren't children anymore; they were soldiers, and they had to act the part.

"You two know the plan?" Sportsmaster growled.

"Yes, sir," they replied.

"Who are our targets?" Icicle demanded.

"Allen Kerf and Eileen Berg, CEOs of a federally-controlled weapons manufactory," Artemis related.

"And why are we going after them?"

"They…they're enemies of the Shadows," Junior offered.

"Elaborate."

"They're sending weapons to…to…it's, it's, the group's working for the FBI, for domestic safety."

"And why is this a problem?"

"Th-they're getting too much information on the Shadows."

"Elaborate."

"They're…uh…they're…"

"They're closing in on low-ranking members who have the highest probability of reporting information," Artemis jumped in, hoping that the resentment she was feeling toward the senior villain wasn't obvious in her tone.

"Good. At least _one _of you knows what's going on." Glancing toward Sportsmaster, he added, "Figures it would be yours."

"He was close," she protested angrily, digging her nails into her palms.

"Watch your mouth, girl," Sportsmaster warned. "Close is never good enough. As an archer, you should know that."

Oh, she knew. During training exercises, each shot more than three millimeters off her intended target was an additional five minutes of endurance, often spent sprinting through the back alleys of Gotham in the dead of night. The memories of cold air burning her lungs and minor crooks shouting catcalls infuriated her, but she kept her composure, gnashing the corner of her mouth to keep herself from retorting.

"We're going after the CEOs. What are you getting?"

"A flash drive with the company's newest technological advancements. It's to be given to the Shadows so that they can develop the weapons instead," she offered. "It's located in a safe in Berg's office. An electrical pulse should short-circuit the lock."

"Good." Reaching into his pocket, Sportsmaster removed a small, pale blue disc. "Place this on the safe and press it once. You'll have five seconds before it relocks. Which one of you is going to hold onto it?"

They shared a look. Taking the initiative was a sign of maturity, a willingness to bear a greater burden of responsibility. Being older, Junior should have jumped at the opportunity, but he had too much respect for Artemis and wouldn't act without consulting her. Besides, with his powers, he was better suited for lookout. Working with arrows in a confined space was more difficult and too risky for a task of this importance.

"I will," she said, reading the minuscule nod her friend gave.

As Sportsmaster passed it to her, Icicle sat down and began assembling his device, muttering, "Real shock my kid's too scared to do it. Probably lose it anyway."

"I wouldn't lose it," he protested quietly.

Icicle spun one of the bolts on the table. "You're a klutz, Junior. You would have screwed up somehow."

"I wouldn't." It was a whisper, and Artemis knew she was the only one who heard. Very briefly, she touched his hand, trying to provide some sense of comfort, but she could do no more, not with their fathers watching. It was time to focus, strip themselves of their emotions and become the ruthless criminals they were expected to be.

Kneeling on the floor, she scrutinized her arrows and her bow, just as her dad had taught her. Even without looking, she knew that he was doing the same with his weapons.

On her sixth inspection, Icicle said, "Alright, let's get going."

Returning her arrows to their quiver, she got to her feet and took her place behind Sportsmaster. Junior did the same with Icicle. Without another word, the men led them through the night to the headquarters.

"Office is on the top floor, third on your right," Sportsmaster explained. "We'll dismantle the alarm. Go right to the office. This is an in-and-out assignment. We'll meet you. Do not come to us. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Detonating a small explosive, he let it roll to the back entrance. As soon as the smoke cleared, they stormed in, adults and children heading in opposite directions. Taking the stairs three at a time, Artemis kept her bow taut, always ready, just in case. Junior matched her pace, the temperature dropping to the negatives. Reaching their destination, Artemis pried her numb fingers free and tried to the door. Locked.

"I got it." A steady beam of ice shot from Junior's left hand, encasing the frame. After a few kicks, the door finally gave way, cracking at the hinges. Pushing it completely open, he gestured to Artemis. "I'll keep guard. You have the flash dive."

Without hesitation, she entered, moving as quickly as she could, ignoring the framed picture of Berg's family propped on the desk and the child's drawing hung on the wall and the tremors racing through her hands. Nausea churned her stomach, but backing out was not an option (because those CEOs were dead or dying and there was nothing she could do), so she slammed on the disc and snapped open the safe.

"I have it," she told her ally.

"Keep back," he hissed. "Try to find another exit. Someone's coming."

"Guards?" she inquired, slipping the prize between her foot and her shoe. Re-notching, she took a step forward, not willing to withdraw from a possible altercation.

"I can't tell. I don't think—"

A flame cut through the air, a dragon cackling with heat and energy. Throwing up a sheet of ice, Junior spat, "Get out!"

"No way," she protested, gritting her teeth. Mind spinning, she prepared herself, wondering from where this Meta had come. There had been no mention about that kind of interference in any of the briefings.

Whirlwinds of fire charged the boy, illuminating its source. A hulking man with short red hair and golden eyes slowly approached, a harsh laugh vibrating in his throat. "How cute. The babies."

"We're not babies," Junior snarled as he launched an icicle at the man's face. It melted within ten feet of the human torch.

"Who are you?" Artemis demanded, firing at his torso.

"Inferno," he explained, a spark leaping onto the arrow and reducing it to ash. "And I'll be needing that flash drive. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Artemis responded by releasing two arrows. The first skimmed his arm, the second disintegrated.

"Very well."

He charged Junior, but before Artemis could intervene, another man, enveloped in metallic armor, burst in and came after her. Each shot bounced off of him, not even deterring his closing in on his prey. "Sportsmaster's daughter. I will enjoy this."

"Try me, Tin Man." She took aim dead-set between his eyes, but the armor only thickened, completely deflecting the assault.

"Foolish girl. I am magnetokinetic. Your little toys are nothing against me."

He reached out to grab her, but she leapt away, crouching on the chair and trying to establish a plan.

"Get away from her!"

Ice gathered around his feet, freezing him to the floor. Facing Junior, Artemis watched him perform a roundhouse kick, blocking an attack from Inferno. With her opponent out, she aided her companion, aiming at the openings Junior provided. Circling the man, she had a clear shot at his unprotected back when someone jumped onto her and pinned her to the floor. Cold metal lingered on her neck.

"Out of ice mode, kid, or I kill her," the newest enemy snarled.

Whipping around, Junior slowly absorbed the scene. "No…"

"Out of ice mode!" The knife dug itself into her skin, and blood oozed to the surface.

"Alright!" he shouted, reverting to normalcy.

"Good boy. Inferno, heat up Metallum, please." Calloused fingers closed around her jaw and roughly wrenched her head backwards. A devil mask stared at her.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"

"Beelzebub. And for the same reason as you. You and your father aren't the only assassins, you know."

"You don't work for the Shadows," Junior objected.

Task completed, Inferno returned to the teen's side, crushing his wrists within his hands. "No, but we do serve a group that has as much of a desire for that flash drive. So, give it to us, and we may let you escape with your lives."

"Not a chance," Artemis spat. "We're not afraid of you."

"Oh, you should be," Beelzebub whispered darkly, increasing pressure on the blade.

"Leave her alone!" Junior shouted. "You coward, leave her alone! Why don't you pick on someone your own size? Right, you don't have the balls!"

"Silence, brat!" Inferno barked. "Or I'll roast you alive."

"No, I want him. Metallum, hold the girl. I need to teach this one manners."

Happy to oblige, Metallum assumed Beelzebub's position while the demon skulked toward Junior, glaring defiantly. "You will regret that you ever said such things to me, boy. I am going to teach you a lesson in respect that you won't soon forget."

With a sneer that rivaled his father's, Junior taunted, "Bring it on."

Unable to witness what was about to happen, Artemis snapped her eyes shut, but the torture resounded in her mind. Fists hitting flesh, choked yelps, growls of rage. A loud thud echoed in her ears, and, fearing the worse, she forced herself to watch. Still alive, Junior was cowering on the floor, his breathing shallow and skin already bruising. Not yet satisfied, Beelzebub kicked him hard in the stomach before rolling him onto his back. Raising his foot, he brought it directly onto the teen's chest. Junior and Artemis screamed in unison.

"Welcome to Hell, boy," he hissed, stomping on his victim's hand. At the small whimper that followed, he laughed sadistically and moved as though to repeat the movement, but a javelin to the skull stopped him. In the next instant, Inferno was treated in the same manner while Metallum was sheathed in a block of ice.

"Dad," she murmured as he and Icicle stalked into the room. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's not your fault," he whispered, gently easing her from underneath the frozen man. "These bastards weren't supposed to be here. Must've gotten wind of what we were doing. You couldn't have known." Pausing, he continued, "You have it?"

"Yeah," she said, handing it over.

"Good job, Baby Girl," he praised quietly, and it was the first time he ever called her that while they were still on the job. Twisting his head, he asked, "Joar, how is he?"

"Bad."

Bile tainting her mouth, she crawled over to her friend, eagle-spread, tears weakly dribbling onto his cheeks. Cam had never before cried in front of his father. Under the concealment of darkness, when it was just him and her, she would sometimes navigate the rivers as she explored the weatherworn terrain of his face, with hills of swollen flesh and drying lakes of blood, when his father's beatings and insults became too much for him. To be losing control now…she could only imagine how much pain he was in.

"It's going to be okay, Cameron." Joar carefully lifted him to his feet. "You're going to be just fine."

"Hurts," he managed, sounding so much younger.

"I know. I'm going to patch you up, okay?"

Tenderly, more tenderly than she'd ever seen him act, he supported his son as they returned to the hideout. And as she watched, she realized why Cam continued struggling for his father's approval, obeyed every command and took all the abuse. He was family, the only rock in the dangerous sea of villainy, and Cam clung to it, jagged and cutting though it was. Beyond the Icicle façade, he did love his child. But he wore no mask, no barrier between his personalities, and years on the job had made it difficult for him to keep them separate. That left Cam fighting for the moments when his dad was truly his dad, and a sharp pain cut through Artemis's chest as she wondered how few those moments were.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked Lawrence in the safety of their room.

"Should be," he murmured, wearily rubbing at his eyes. "I'll go help, got more experience than Joar in this kind of stuff. Weird, though, that Beelzebub did this. He's a punk, but this kind of violence isn't his style."

"Cam made him angry," she explained, tearing open the Starburst bag and shoving a handful in her pocket. "Beelzebub was hurting me, Cam called him a coward."

Lawrence stared at her for a moment. "Kid has guts," he mumbled softly before leaving for the other room. Artemis followed.

"One broken rib, three others fractured," Joar reported, fingers trailing the wounded area. "Plus a Hell of a lot of contusions and a damaged right hand. Help me wrap him up."

Together, they set to work, and Artemis watched, fascinated by the defined muscles of Cam's abdomen. She thought about the girls in school, always fawning over the boys in magazines that had "six-packs," as they called rectus abdominis muscle, and couldn't help but decide that Cam was much better than any of those pretty boys. Shame then engulfed her for focusing on something so petty rather than the violets and indigos that bloomed on his body.

When the ribs were secured, Joar helped Cam get his shirt back on, murmuring, "We have to drop off the flash drive. We'll see you in an hour. Try not to move too much."

"Stay safe, Artemis," her dad whispered.

Parents gone, Artemis lay next to her friend, head underneath his chin. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be okay."

Pulling forth a red Starburst, she removed the paper and offered it to him. "Here."

"No way. That's your gift."

"Please, Cam. It's your favorite flavor."

He relented, opening his mouth, and she popped it in. "Why'd you do that? Piss Beelzebub off, I mean."

"I had to. He was cutting you."

"Small cut. Negligible. He wouldn't have killed me."

"Don't care. It's not right. 'Sides, I can take a beating."

Said with simple acceptance, the sentence shook Artemis to her core, and tears prickled the back of her eyes.

"Oh, crap, Artemis, I, I didn't mean to upset you. Please, I'm sorry. Look, d-don't cry, please. I'm sor—"

Her lips met his. He tasted like cherries and snow.

After a few seconds, he broke away. "Look, Artemis, don't do this. I, I really like you, b-but I don't want you doing this because you feel bad for me."

"I'm not doing it because of that," she insisted. "I like you too."

"Really?"

"Really." She slipped her arms around him. "I always have."

Smiling the biggest smile she'd seen, he leaned forward and kissed her gently. She shivered slightly and returned it. There was simmering passion behind each embrace, years of repressed longing bursting forth in slow, rich movements.

She laid her head against his chest. "They'll be back soon. Should I go to my room?"

"Please don't," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes. "Please stay."

"Okay," she replied, snuggling even closer, content that the answer she'd been desiring was the one she received. "Goodnight, Cam."

"Goodnight, Artemis."

She fell asleep to the lullaby of his steady heartbeat.


End file.
